Work Text:
The lock clicked, and before the door had even fully swung shut, they were already colliding. It was a frantic, practiced rhythm - the kind born of adrenaline, stress, and the desperate need to anchor themselves to something real after the chaos they’d just left behind.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
Spencer pressed Aaron back against the bookshelves, his hands tangled in the collar of Aaron’s jacket, yanking it off his shoulders with a grunt of impatience. Aaron didn’t wait, his hands mapping the familiar contours of Spencer’s waist and chest, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a single inch of space between them.
Their lips met with a hunger that bordered on bruising. It wasn’t gentle, and it didn’t need to be; it was an unspoken language they’d perfected over these last five months. They were moths to a flame, drawn into the heat with a singular, blinding purpose.
As they stumbled toward the bedroom, clothes were shed in a scattered trail - a discarded blazer here, a button-down there - nothing mattered but the urgency of the touch. By the time they reached the edge of the bed, the distance between them had completely vanished, replaced by the heavy, rhythmic sound of their breathing and the sharp, grounding sensation of skin against skin.
Everything about the case - the faces they’d had to look at, the tension of the work, the weight of the job - dissolved the moment they fell onto the mattress together. Here, in the dark, they didn’t have to be anything other than exactly what they were to each other.
I don't wanna talk, no more living in the past, baby
They didn’t just kiss; they sought to lose themselves. The air in the room was thick, charged with the residual static of the job they’d just escaped, and they latched onto each other with a desperate, feverish intensity.
Every press of their lips was an attempt to overwrite the day - to drown out the voices of the people they’d interviewed, the grim reality of the case, and the cold, professional distance they had been forced to maintain for hours on end. It was frantic and demanding, a chaotic blur of friction and breath.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
Spencer gripped Aaron’s shirt, pulling him down, needing the weight of him to feel solid, to feel real. They were trying to forget how complicated being more than friends was - that this wasn’t just a physical release, but a dangerous, grounding tether. They didn’t want to think about the five months that had led them to this point, or the unspoken boundaries they were blurring with every ragged inhale.
And I'm not gonna stop 'til I forget what we had
In the dim light, there was only the frantic rhythm of their pulse, the desperate exploration of skin, and the silent, overwhelming need to exist only for each other. For these hours, in this room, they weren’t analysts, and they weren’t colleagues. They were simply, singularly, each other’s.
The morning light filtered through the blinds. The frantic energy of the night before had settled into a quiet, humming contentment that felt almost fragile in the stillness of the room.
Spencer sat propped up against the headboard, his legs tangled with Aaron’s. He held his coffee with both hands, the warmth seeping into his palms, watching Aaron lean back against the pillows. There was a comfortable weight to the silence - a stark, welcome contrast to the adrenaline-fueled hours that had preceded it..
“You realize,” Aaron said, his voice still thick with sleep as he turned his head to look at Spencer, “that the team is going to be wondering why we didn’t check in until this morning.”
Spencer let out a soft, huffed laugh, reaching over to set his mug down so he could trace the line of Aaron’s jaw with his thumb. “Let them wonder. We earned the delay. And Pen can always locate us if they get worried.”
Aaron leaned into the touch, his eyes closing for a brief second before he captured Spencer’s hand, pressing a lingering kiss to the center of his palm. He shifted closer, the movement fluid and familiar, closing the small gap between them until their shoulders were pressed together.
We kissed in the morning on a summer day
“I’m certainly not complaining,” Aaron murmured against his skin.
Spencer leaned in, meeting him halfway for a slow, easy kiss that tasted like coffee and quiet intimacy. It was a stark departure from the desperation of the night - no need to prove anything, no need to hide. Just a soft, lingering contact that acknowledges the reality of the morning, and the undeniable fact that, for now, they were exactly where they both wanted to be.
You taste like cigarettes and hurricanes
The transition from the bed to the reality of the workday was slow, marked by the comfortable, lived-in silence of two people who knew exactly how the other moved in a small space.
Spencer was already half-dressed when Aaron emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly perplexed as he realized his oversight. He paused, one hand brushing back his damp hair, his gaze landing on his own suitcase - or rather, the lack of a fresh, appropriate tie inside it. They were all ones he had worn on the case they just finished.
“I’m an idiot,” Aaron muttered, a wry half-smile tugging at his lips as he looked over at Spencer. “I forgot to pack a spare, and I really don’t feel like showing up in yesterday’s tie is going to go unnoticed by the team.”
There's a warning written in the corners of your face
Spencer didn’t even hesitate. He pulled his closet door open, running a finger along his rack of ties before settling on a subtle, charcoal-gray one. He turned back, tossing it gently toward Aaron.
“Take it,” Spencer said, leaning against the dresser.
Aaron caught it easily, the fabric pooling in his hands. He looked at it, then back at Spencer, the familiar warmth of their dynamic softening the sharp edges of the morning. “You sure? It’s one of your favorites.”
“It’ll look better on you anyway,” Spencer replied, stepping forward as Aaron tied the tie. Spencer smoothed out his blazer jacket at the shoulders and Aaron leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Spencer’s mouth - a quiet thank you that carried more weight than words ever could.
Whiplash and you left me in a vapour trail
“Thanks,” Aaron whispered, his breath warm against Spencer’s skin. “See you at the office?”
“See you there,” Spencer agreed, though neither of them moved for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
The breakroom was humming with the low-level noise of a mid-day routine - the aggressive hiss of the coffee machine, the soft chatter of agents in the hall, and the hum of the overhead lights.
JJ was already at the coffee station, a file tucked under her arm, as Spencer and Aaron walked in. They moved with a synchronized, practiced distance, stepping around each other with the precise spatial awareness of two people who had spent years working cases together.
“Rough night?” JJ asked, glancing up from her mug as they approached. She caught the slight, tired set of Aaron’s shoulders and the way Spencer was already reaching for the creamer without looking up.
Now I know it's safe to say
“You could say that,” Aaron replied, his tone clipped and purely professional, the weariness in his voice masked by the steady, authoritative cadence he used for briefings. He adjusted the knot of his tie - the charcoal-gray one - with a quick, efficient tug. “The paperwork alone is going to take until midnight.”
Spencer nodded, keeping his gaze focused on his mug as he stirred in a couple packets of sugar. “We’re going to need to sync on the witness statement before the afternoon conference,” he added, his voice steady, devoid of the warmth that had been present only a few hours ago. He didn’t look at Aaron, but he was acutely aware of him - the way Aaron stood, the proximity of his shoulder to his own, the subtle scent of the coffee Aaron had just poured.
“I’ll have the summaries ready by one,” Aaron said, turning to catch JJ’s eyes. “Spencer and I have the files updated in the system. We should be good to go for the meeting.”
Nothing's perfect anyway
It was seamless - a perfect display of professional detachment. To anyone else, they were just two seasoned agents discussing a case. But under the table, or in the brief flickers of gaze they avoided, there was a heavy, unspoken weight of the morning’s quiet intimacy, carefully locked away until the shift ended.
-
The door to his office closed with a soft click, shutting out the relentless noise of the BAU. Aaron finally allowed his shoulders to drop, the professional mask he’d been wearing for the last five hours fracturing the second he was out of sight.
He stood by the window, staring out at the parking lot without seeing it. The silence in his office was heavy, suffocating, and stuffy. He could feel the weight of the tie against his chest - a small, trivial piece of clothing that now felt like a lead weight.
He was reeling, the frustration simmering just beneath his ribs. It was a cycle he’d been trapped in for five months: the frantic, desperate intimacy that left him breathless, followed by the agonizing, sterile coldness of the office. Spencer was the one who had propositioned this. Just friends, he had said, with a few benefits. A simple arrangement to take the edge off the job, a way to handle the pressure.
But it wasn’t simple anymore.
You say you fell in love, but you don't know how
Aaron gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. He had fallen, and he had fallen hard, and the sheer irony of it made him want to laugh. He was in love with a man who was right there - within his reach, within his arms - but who existed entirely out of his grasp.
Was this it? Was this all it would ever be? A sequence of stolen hours, shared coffee, and secret touches that Spencer could turn off like a light switch the moment they walked through the bullpen doors?
We were good once, but I fucked up now
He looked at his reflection in the window, wondering if the longing was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. He was terrified to ask, terrified to break the fragile, unspoken rules that kept them together. Because if he asked for more and the answer was no, he wouldn’t just lose the hope of a relationship; he’d lose the only thing keeping him anchored through the chaos of the job.
-
Aaron held his position at the center of the table, his spine rod-straight, his expression carved from stone. He had spent the last ten minutes in his office deliberately stripping away the softness of the morning, folding it into a neat, inaccessible square in his mind.
He was a man in control. He had to be.
Standing near the projector screen, Penelope was walking them through the grim statistics of the case. The images on the screen were clinical, but the weight of them hung heavy in the air.
“The unsub’s targeting is incredibly specific,” Penelope said, her voice unusually somber as she pointed to the latest crime scene photos.
“He’s hunting older, dark-haired gay men - specifically those who have younger romantic partners.” Aaron said, eyes looking anywhere but Spencer.
I was dumb trying to work things out
“It’s a targeted, predatory cycle. He’s looking for a very particular power dynamic, and he’s executing them with terrifying precision.” Emily said after taking in the facts she was presented with.
As the team delved into the psychological profile, Aaron’s gaze betrayed him. It flickered, almost against his will, to the other side of the round table. Spencer was sitting there, brow slightly furrowed in concentration, tapping a pen against his chin in that way he always did when he was processing data.
Seeing him like this - clothed in professional armor, looking at the case files with that detached, brilliant intensity - made the ache in Aaron’s chest sharper. It was a cruel reminder of the duality of his existence. He looked at Spencer and saw the person he had held just hours ago, the person whose skin he knew better than his own, and yet, there was an ocean of silence between them. He forced his eyes back to the screen, his jaw tight. He couldn’t afford to wonder. He couldn’t afford to hope.
I built a house and you burned it down
“The pattern is consistent,” Dave spoke. “The profile suggests someone who feels displaced or slighted by this specific demographic.”
Aaron stood up. He didn’t look at Spencer again, even though he could feel the phantom weight of his gaze.
“We have our objective,” Aaron said, his voice flat and commanding, cutting though the lingering tension in the room. “We have everything that we need. Wheels up in twenty.”
The hotel door clicked shut, the sound of the deadbolt sliding acting like a quiet signal. They didn’t drop their bags so much as let them slide from their shoulders to the carpeted floor. The case files were a blur of statistics and crime scene photos, but as Aaron tossed them onto the desk, his movements were fluid, deliberate - a stark contrast to the rigid, professional version of himself presented in the conference room.
He turned toward Spencer, his eyes scanning him with a predatory hunger. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, his hand coming up to rest on the small of Spencer’s back.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
“You were staring at me across the table today,” Aaron murmured, his voice a low, vibrating hum that made the fine hairs on Spencer’s arms stand up. The air was thick with the weight of the day, but Aaron’s touch was light, almost teasing. “Hard to focus when you’re looking at me like that, Spence.”
I don't wanna talk, no more living in the past, baby
Spencer let out a breathless, uneven laugh, the professional mask finally fracturing completely. He stepped into Aaron’s space, his hands finding charcoal-gray tie - his tie - and pulling him closer until their chests were flush. It was a familiar gravitational pull - the way they collapsed toward each other whenever the doors were closed and the world couldn’t reach them.
“I wasn’t staring,” Spencer lied, his voice thin and strained, before he lunged forward, capturing Aaron’s mouth in a kiss that was anything but subtle.
It was a frantic, punishing collision. Spencer climbed over the friction of it, his fingers tangling in Aaron’s hair, needing to feel the solidity of him. They didn’t talk; they didn’t acknowledge the heavy, suffocating silence of the things they hadn’t said. They didn’t have to.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
Sex was the shortcut. It was the only language they had that didn’t require honesty, the only way to silence the screaming realization that this - this volatile, desperate intimacy - was all they had allowed themselves to build. They were using it to burn away the day, to incinerate the stress and the fear, to make sure that, for tonight, they didn’t have to confront the terrifying reality of what was actually happening between them.
And I'm not gonna stop 'til I forget what we had
They moved toward the bed, a tangle of limbs and hungry, searching mouths, desperate to lose themselves in the heat before the quiet became too loud to ignore.
The small, brightly lit squad room of the LA precinct felt stifling, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee. The team was clustered around a whiteboard, the surface cluttered with printouts of crime scene photos and victim profiles.
“The timeline is tight,” JJ said, gesturing to the latest map of the city. “He’s not just killing at random. He’s hunting. He picks a target, observes, and then strikes. He’s also using a date-rape drug to make it easier to overpower the men.”
“It’s classic displacement,” Derek added, crossing his arms over his chest, “He was hurt by an older, powerful figure - someone he couldn’t fight back against at the time. Now, he’s re-enacting that power dynamic.”
Just a minute now, there's something different now
Aaron stood slightly to the side, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the victimology data. The profile was chillingly consistent: men in their forties to fifties, dark-haired, successful, usually seen in the company of a younger, more vulnerable partner.
“H’es not just choosing them for their age,” Dave noted, his voice low and contemplative. “He’s choosing them because their relationships look perfect from the outside. He wants to shatter that image of perfection.”
“Garcia, you there?” Aaron asked, his voice cutting through the quiet of the room as he hit the speakerphone button.
“Loud and clear, my fearless leader!” Penelope’s voice crackled through the phone, the familiar sound a jarring contrast to the grim reality they were discussing. “I’ve been crunching the numbers on the bar-hopping patterns. If we’re right about the next location, he’s going to gravitate toward venues with high-end crowds and a heavy rotation of new faces.”
All your morning sounds, how's it all so loud?
“He needs an audience,” Spencer murmured, finally stepping away from the corner where he’d been quietly cross-referencing witness accounts. He looked at the map, his eyes tracing the red pins that marked the previous hits. “He wants to be seen, but he also needs to feel invisible. A crowded bar or club is the perfect camouflage."
Dave leaned forward, tapping his pen against the board. “So, if we want to catch him, we need to bait the trap. We figure out where he’s going to hit next, and we place our own targets in his path.”
Put the flowers down 'cause they look like clouds
The room went quiet. The implication hung in the air - the necessity of placing someone in the line of fire. Aaron didn’t look at Spencer, but he felt the sudden shift in the room, the collective awareness of what the strategy would require.
“We need a profile-perfect couple,” Dave continued, his gaze drifting around the room. “Someone who looks exactly like what he’s looking for.”
Aaron kept his expression neutral, his posture rigid. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing in on him, the unspoken tension between him and Spencer suddenly a tangible thing in the room. He didn’t have to look to know that the team was already doing the math.
Leave me to it then and let your hair grow out
“We’ll narrow down the location,” Aaron said, his voice clipped and decisive. “And then we’ll decide on undercover operation optics. Let’s focus on the ‘where’ first.”
-
“Spencer and Aaron,” Dave said, his voice level. “You two. You’ve got the look, you’ve got the rapport, and you’ve got the experience to make it look effortless. You’ve been direct work partners for a year now, you can give him exactly what he’s looking for.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping on his cheek as he looked at the map, then back to the center of the room. He could feel Spencer’s presence beside him, a sudden, sharp spike of awareness that he had been working so hard to suppress all day.
Spencer looked at the floor, then up at the whiteboard, his expression unreadable. For a beat, the air in the room felt thin. They both knew exactly what this meant - not just the danger of the assignment, but the erosion of the boundary they were struggling so desperately to maintain. They would have to perform the intimacy that they were already terrified of feeling.
Aaron shifted, his shoulders squaring as he finally looked at Spencer. The flicker of hesitation in Spencer’s eyes mirrored his own - the silent acknowledgement of the trap they were walking into, both professionally and personally.
Now, I know it's safe to say
“We’ll do it,” Aaron said, his voice steady, though it felt like he was speaking from a great distance.
Spencer nodded, a single, sharp movement. “We’ll be ready.”
Nothing's perfect anyway
They agreed because it was a mission. They agreed because it was what they did. But as the team began to break apart to finalize the logistics, the weight of the decision settled over them - a heavy, undeniable pressure that signaled the start of a much more dangerous game.
The air in the hotel room was still, a sharp contrast to the high-stakes planning they had just endured. They didn’t speak as they moved through the room; they didn’t need to.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
Aaron crossed the room in two measured strides, catching Spencer by the waist and pulling him flush against his frame. It was a movement born of muscle memory, a desperate, anchoring hold that carried the residual heat of their day.
Spencer let out a shaky breath, his hands instinctively coming up to grip Aaron’s shoulders. He tipped his head back, his eyes searching Aaron’s face, looking for the man who was his work partner, his lover, and his constant in a world that rarely offered one.
I don't wanna talk, no more living in the past, baby
Aaron’s thumb grazed the sharp line of Spencer’s jaw, his expression softening in a way it never did for anyone else. He leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below Spencer’s ear.
“I’ll keep you safe, Sweetheart,” he murmured.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
The word hung in the quiet, thick and heavy. It wasn’t a tactical term, or a piece of shorthand - it was possessive, tender, and deeply, terrifyingly personal. Spencer felt his entire posture melt, the tension he had been carrying in his shoulders since the conference room evaporating at the sound of it. He let his eyes slip shut, a small, involuntary whimper escaping him as he leaned into Aaron’s touch.
And I'm not gonna stop 'til I forget what we had
It felt like a promise, or a confession, and in the dark of the room, they both clung to it. For a moment, they weren’t investigators hunting a predator; they were just two people terrified of their own shadows, finding a fragile, flickering light in each other. Aaron pressed his forehead against Spencer’s, his breath hitching, and for the first time, he didn’t try to pull away. He just held him there, letting the silence bridge the gap they were too afraid to cross with words.
-
Spencer lay perfectly still, his head resting in the crook of Aaron’s shoulder, listening to the steady, rhythmic pulse of his breathing. He had spent enough nights tangled in these sheets to know the precise depth of Aaron’s sleep - that heavy, unconscious state where the lines of his face smoothed out and the day’s burdens finally fell away.
It was in that fragile, unguarded space that it happened.
Aaron shifted slightly, his arm tightening around Spencer’s waist as if he were holding onto something in a dream. A soft, barely audible murmur escaped his lips, a sound so low it was almost lost to the stillness of the room.
You say
“I love you.”
You fell in love, but you don't know how
Spencer’s breath hitched, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet. His eyes flew open, his heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against his ribs. He froze, muscles locking in place as he waited - sure that if he breathed, he’d wake Aaron up, or that if he moved, the reality of what he’d just heard would evaporate.
We were good once, but I fucked up now
He stared at the back of the bedroom door, his mind racing to analyze the tone, the inflection, the context. But he knew the sound of Aaron’s sleep-talk. He knew the way Aaron’s subconscious bled into words when he was too tired to guard them.
Yet, as he felt the warmth of Aaron’s body against his own, Spencer felt a cold, defensive wall snap into place. He doesn’t mean it, he told himself, the thought settling like lead in his stomach. He’s asleep. It’s just residual exhaustion, the confusion of the mission, the blurring of lines he’s already drawn.
I was dumb, trying to work things out
He closed his eyes again, burying his face into the soft fabric of Aaron’s t-shirt. He decided, with the clinical, detached efficiency of a mind that could remember every detail of every file he’s ever read, to simply lock the memory away. He would act as if it hadn’t happened. He would treat it as a ghost of the night, something that had no place in the bright, sharp reality of the coming day.
I built a house and you burned it down
For now, he just stayed there, letting the silence warp around them, determined to keep his own heart securely out of reach.
The hotel room had been turned into a tagging ground, the air hazy with hairspray and the sharp scent of the cosmetics. JJ and Emily had cleared the case files from the desk, replacing them with an arsenal of products that felt entirely foreign.
“You need to look approachable,” JJ said, gesturing for Spencer to sit. She picked up a thick eyeliner pencil, smudging it gently around Spencer’s lash-lines. “We want ‘carefree,’ not ‘Dr. Reid.’ If you look too intense, he’ll spook. You want to look like you’re just here for a drink and a good time.” JJ set Spencer’s now empty contact case aside for later.
Across the room, Emily was busy with Aaron, though the dynamic was starkly different. She was working with a fine-mist spray that caught the light, dusting Aaron with a fine, shimmering body glitter. It clung to his skin and clothes, turning the harsh hotel lighting into something soft and ethereal.
Aaron stood still, his expression unreadable, though his jaw was set. He was dressed in a silk shirt left unbuttoned further than he would ever dream of in any other context, the fabric clinging to him in a way that felt deliberate and provocative. The scars that kissed his skin were showing, but he wasn’t ashamed of them. He just hoped the unsub wouldn’t be turned away by them.
Spencer, meanwhile, had been ushered into a sheer, form-fitting top that left very little to the imagination. As he pulled it on, he caught his reflection in the mirror - he looked younger, softer, and entirely unlike the man who walked into the BAU every morning. But so did Aaron. The smudged eyeliner gave his gaze a hazy, slightly detached quality, just as JJ had intended.
“Okay,” Emily said, stepping back and wiping her hands on a towel. She looked them over - the glitter catching the light on Aaron’s chest, the way the dark liner softened Spencer’s features, the intentional, revealing nature of their clothes. “You look like you belong in a club. Don’t think about the badge. Don’t think about the case. Just… look like you’re interested in each other.”
Aaron moved closer, his hand coming up to instinctively fix the collar of Spencer’s shirt. The glitter from his skin transferring faintly to Spencer’s own shoulder, a shimmering, unintended mark of their proximity.
“Carefree,” Aaron repeated softly, his eyes searching Spencer’s face. He almost moved to cup Spencer’s jaw but stopped his hand, making it freeze on Spencer’s shoulder for a moment too long. “I think we can do that.”
Spencer felt his breath hitch as his eyes finally scanned Aaron fully. He nodded, once, his focus narrowing entirely onto Aaron. “I think we could pull off a couple.”
-
The club was a sensory assault and under the pulsing, strobing lights, the crowd was a blur of movement. In the center of the dance floor, Aaron and Spencer were the only thing that mattered.
They were a kinetic, tangled mess of limbs. Aaron had one hand pressed firmly against the small of Spencer’s back, pulling him flush against his front, while Spencer’s arms were wound tight around Aaron’s neck, his fingers tangling into the soft hair at his nape. They were dancing, but it was aggressive - a slow, deliberate grind that was entirely too intimate for colleagues.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
“The team is watching,” Spencer murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Aaron’s ear, though his hips moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. “But I’m fine with pretending they aren’t for a moment.”
Aaron’s hand tightened on Spencer’s waist, his grip bruisingly firm. He leaned in, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against Spencer’s skin. “I’m not thinking about them right now, sweetheart. I’m thinking about how much I want to get you out of here and into bed.”
Every time Spencer shifted, every time he pressed forward, he felt the unmistakeable, hard ridge of Aaron’s reaction pressed against him. It was a silent, frantic communication, a confession of desire that was far too honest in the middle of a crowded, strobe-lit floor.
I don't wanna talk, no more living in the past, baby
Spencer let out a sharp, jagged breath, his head falling onto Aaron’s shoulder. He felt the heat radiating off Aaron’s chest - the glitter transferring as they shifted - and he ground his hips down, a deliberate provocation that made Aaron tighten his grip. They were dancing, yes, but it was entirely too sensual for just friends - just colleagues.
They were performing, playing the roles of a couple so consumed by each other they had forgotten the world existed for a moment, but the line between the performance and the reality was blurring until it was non-existent. They were using the dance to anchor themselves, to lose themselves in the sheer, undeniable reality of their physical need to be close.
In the back of a surveillance van, the team could watch the feed, see the way Aaron’s hands slid down to Spencer’s hips, the way they moved as one - but they couldn’t hear the whispered, desperate promises, and they couldn’t see the way Spencer’s eyes were glazed with a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with the mission.
The music was a physical weight, a pulsing, hypnotic bass that seemed to vibrate directly through their skin. They were barely dancing in the traditional sense; it was more of an ongoing, rhythmic collision.
Aaron had his hands buried in the small of Spencer’s back, his grip insistent and possessive, keeping their lower bodies pressed so tightly together that the distinction between them felt like an illusion. Spencer, for his part, had his arms locked around Aaron’s shoulders, his fingers white-knucked against the silk of Aaron’s shirt. Every time the bass dropped, they moved as a single unit.
They were drifting through the crowd, their movements calculated to look like erratic, desperate hunger of a new couple, but their eyes were constantly, subtly scanning the outskirts of the club. They weren’t just dancing anymore; they were hunting.
“Check your left,” Aaron murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive cord of Spencer’s neck. His breath was hot, a sharp contrast to the cool sweat on Spencer’s skin. “Two o’clock. Guy in the leather jacket, watching us a little too closely.”
Spencer didn’t whip his head around. He simply leaned into Aaron, his hips grinding slow and deliberate against him, a move that elicited a sharp, involuntary intake of breath from Aaron. Spencer’s hands wandered, roaming from Aaron’s shoulders, across his chest, then down to his waist. His fingers dug into the firm muscle there - a gesture that looked like unrestrained lust but was meant to keep him grounded. Now that they spotted the unsub, Aaron was going to have to let the guy take him out of here. And Aaron will probably have to be drugged for this to work.
“I see him,” Spencer whispered back, his voice thick with a fake, breathless adoration that was dangerously close to the real thing. Not that he would know the difference anymore. He pulled Aaron closer, their foreheads bumping together, their noses brushing in a way that made the rest of the club fade into a blurred, neon haze.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
They were completely, intensely focused on each other - the way Aaron’s hands were roaming freely, never staying in one place, the way Spencer’s lips were tracing the line of Aaron’s jaw - that the team’s chatter in the van was reduced to nothing more than static in their earpieces.
Inside the surveillance van, the atmosphere wasn’t tense - it was electrifying, charged with a rare, communal sense of exhilaration.
The monitors cast a cool blue light over the team and everyone was focused in on the monitors. Derek was leaning back in his chair, a slow, appreciative grin spreading across his face. He watched as Aaron’s hand slid down to Spencer’s hips and let out a low, impressed whistle.
“Look at that,” Derek chuckled, gesturing toward the screen. “I knew Hotch had a pulse, but I didn’t know he had that kind of rhythm. And the kid? He’s not just keeping up; he’s leading.”
Dave was standing by the console, a cup of coffee in his hand, a look of genuine amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s impressive, really,” he murmured, his voice laced with a light, teasing warmth. “It’s like watching a high-stakes chess match played at one hundred and twenty beats per minute. They’re absolutely selling it.”
Emily leaned in, her eyes bright with a mix of excitement and pride. She watched the way Spencer moved - fluid, confident, and completely in sync with Aaron - and she couldn’t help but beam. “They look incredible,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I mean, honestly? Look at them. They’re a force of nature. We need to take them clubbing on girls' nights in the future.”
JJ was practically vibrating in her seat, her hands clasped tightly together, a delighted smile on her face. “I am so happy for them,” she whispered, mostly to herself, though the sentiment hung clearly in the air. “I’ve never seen Spence look that… alive. That outgoing.”
Over the phone, a sharp, delighted squeal from Penelope echoed through the van, followed by a flurry of frantic typing. “Oh, my stars and garters! Did you see that? The way Aaron just pulled him closer? That’s the most beautiful, tactical, heart-stopping thing I have ever witnessed. I am officially their number one fan- start the fan club, print the t-shirts, I am ready to be president!”
Derek laughed, a deep, resonant sound that filled the small space. “They’re doing great, Baby Girl. We’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“They’re not just ‘doing great,’ my hunk of goodness,” Penelope countered, her voice thick with unbridled joy. “They are absolutely glowing. They’re finally letting themselves have this, even if it’s just for the sake of the mission. And honestly? I think I might just cry. It’s perfect.”
The team fell into a comfortable silence, a collective, unspoken acknowledgement that what they were watching was more than just an undercover operation. It was a long-overdue moment of freedom for two people they cared about deeply.
Back in the club, they weren’t just playing the part; they were losing themselves in the very intimacy they were supposed to be faking. It was intoxicating, and as the lights strobed over them, catching the glitter on Aaron’s skin and the dark, smudged shadows of Spencer’s eyes, the line between ‘undercover’ and ‘truth’ vanished entirely.
And I'm not gonna stop 'til I forget what we had
Aaron pressed his palm flat against Spencer’s spine, pulling him flush one more time, and felt the unmistakable, rigid proof of Spencer’s response. “I’m going to go to the bar in a minute, sweetheart.” Spencer nodded, pressing his lips to the corner of Aaron’s mouth. “I’ll be okay.”
Spencer brought their foreheads back together and placed his hands firmly on Aaron’s chest, “I’ll be right behind you to get you to a medic,” Spencer whispered, turning them so Aaron was blocking Spencer from the view of the security camera. He pressed a quick kiss to Aaron’s mouth, a silent reassurance. Aaron’s grip tightened on Spencer’s hips for a moment, reassuring him back.
-
Aaron stepped up to the bar, the sticky condensation on the surface cooling his palms. He moved with practiced grace, his body language screaming available and bored. He felt the gaze on him before he saw it - the weight of someone evaluating, measuring, calculating.
He turned slowly, meeting the eyes of a man who looked lean and sharp, his height slighter than Aaron’s but possessing a quiet, coiled tension.
Aaron keyed his mic, his voice a low, steady murmur for the team to catch. “Target located. He’s making a move. Get ready.”
He didn’t blink. He let his expression soften into an easy, invitation-only smile. “Looks a little crowded in here,” Aaron said, his tone smooth, polished - the kind of charm that had earned him the team’s raised eyebrows.
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
The man stepped closer, invading Aaron’s personal space with the deliberate confidence of a predator. He murmured something low, and Aaron tilted his head, playing the game, his eyes dropping to the man’s lips and then back up, unbothered and inviting.
When the man motioned to the bartender for a drink and slid it toward Aaron, the move was subtle, but to a BAU profiler, it was a glowing sign. Aaron waited a beat, watching the man’s fingers linger on the glass just a second too long. He turned away, his back to the bar, and in the reflection of the mirror behind the bottles, he watched the man add the powder.
Aaron turned back. He caught the man’s expectant look and took the glass. He didn’t hesitate. He took a long, calculated gulp, the liquid burning as it went down, and set the glass back on the sticky counter with a thud.
“I’m ready when you are,” Aaron said, his voice dropping into a register that was intentionally thick, the first edge of the drug beginning to tug at his focus.
The man smirked, satisfied. “Let’s go.”
I don't wanna talk, no more living in the past, baby
As they moved toward the exit, Aaron’s gait was slightly off, a calculated bit of performance that became increasingly difficult to distinguish from reality as his head started to swim. He kept his gaze unfocused, leaning slightly into the man’s space, letting himself be steered out the door into the cool, chaotic night air.
Following a few paces behind, Spencer moved like a shadow. He was tight-wired, his gaze darting between the man leading Aaron and the team members he knew were fanned out around the corner, ready to spring the trap. Every fiber of his being screamed to rush forward, to catch Aaron before he stumbled, but he forced himself to maintain the distance. He was the safety net, and he couldn’t afford to be seen.
The chaos of the takedown was a blur of shouting and flashing lights, but Spencer’s world narrowed down to the man stumbling in his arms. As soon as the cuffs were secure on the unsub, Spencer hooked an arm around Aaron’s waist, hauling him away from the scene with a desperate, frantic urgency.
Aaron was dead weight against him, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. His eyes were unfocused, darting around the dark parking lot as if tracking things that weren’t there. As they neared the waiting ambulance, Aaron stumbled, his head dropping onto Spencer’s shoulder.
“Spence,” Aaron muttered, his voice thick, slurry, and painfully earnest. “I- I can’t… the way you look at me. When you look at me, I think… we could be more. Why can’t we be more? I just… I guess I just want you to know that I don’t care about the… the job. Only you. It’s always been you.”
Don't wanna talk, baby, I just wanna dance
Spencer felt his chest tighten, a physical ache blooming behind his ribs at the raw, unfiltered confession. He didn’t look at Aaron; he couldn’t. He focused entirely on the EMTs coming toward them, his grip on Aaron’s shirt white-knuckled.
“Don’t,” Spencer said, his voice clipped and strained as he guided Aaron toward the stretcher. “Aaron, you’re not yourself. You’re under the influence, and you have no idea what you’re saying.”
“I do,” Aaron insisted, his voice rising, a pathetic, desperate edge to it. He grabbed at Spencer’s shirt, his fingers fumbling with the fabric. “I know exactly- I… I love you Spence.”
Spencer’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that threatened to drown out the noise of the scene around them. He signaled the EMT to take over, his hands lingering on Aaron’s shoulders for one beat too long before he forced himself to let go.
“You need medical attention,” Spencer said, his voice flat, retreating behind the familiar, cold barrier of clinical detachment. He watched as they laid Aaron down, the bright lights of the ambulance drowning out his features. “We can talk when you’re sober. When we’re home.”
And I'm not gonna stop 'til I forget what we had
As the ambulance doors began to close, Aaron’s gaze found his, confused and hurt and devastatingly lucid for a single second before the drug pulled him back under. Spencer turned away, walking back toward the dark, cold safety of the night, his own confession buried deep where he prayed it wouldn’t be found.
The morning light in Spencer’s apartment was a contrast to the aggressive neon of the club they left behind a day ago. They had landed back in Virginia only two hours prior and went straight to Spencer’s. They were curled on the couch, the adrenaline of the case finally ebbing away into a fragile, hollow kind of exhaustion.
Aaron leaned back against the cushions, his shirt wrinkled, his gaze fixed on the window. He looked every bit as drained as Spencer felt, the glitter still clinging to their skins - a ghostly reminder of the performance they had just put on.
“Everything I said,” Aaron began, his voice raspy, devoid of the slurry, drug-induced haze that had clouded it in the ambulance. He didn’t look at Spencer, his eyes remaining locked across the room. “Everything I said when we were leaving the scene… I meant it. All of it.”
He finally turned, his expression guarded, braced for a rejection that Spencer could see the reflected tension of his shoulders. “I want more, Spencer. I don’t want to keep hiding this, or pretending it’s just a way to blow off steam. But if you can’t… if this is all you want, I’ll respect that. I just needed you to know the truth.”
You say you fell in love, but you don't know how
He hesitated, his law locking. “I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time. I’m sorry if this isn’t what you want to hear.”
We were good once, but I fucked up now
The confession hung in the air, heavier and more terrifying than any threat they’d faced on the job. Spencer felt the breath hitch in his throat, the walls he’d spent months building around his heart suddenly feeling paper-thin. He looked at Aaron - really looked at him - and saw not just his work partner, but the person who had become his entire world.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Spencer whispered, his voice trembling. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Aaron’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’ve been terrified to say it because I thought… I thought I was the only one.” He looked up, meeting Aaron’s eyes, his own softening. “I love you, too, Aaron.”
The tension that had been coiled between them for months - the unspoken, the suppressed, the frantic energy of their secret life - seemed to snap, leaving behind a sudden, quiet peace. Aaron exhaled, a ragged, shuddering sound, and pulled Spencer into his space.
When they kissed, it was nothing like the departure, bruising collisions of the past. It was slow, tender, and deeply, achingly real - a silent acknowledgement that, for the first time, they didn’t have to pretend, and they didn’t have to run. They were simply, finally, together.